


i'm a trainwreck, i'm a car crash (but you're stuck with me)

by ArcadeGhostAdventurer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Substance Abuse, Young!Tony, don't look at me like that there is no underage sex here, he's 18 ok, i said don't look
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 23:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20609387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcadeGhostAdventurer/pseuds/ArcadeGhostAdventurer
Summary: Tony comes into Steve’s life with a crash and a bang that disrupts that quiet struggle of the night in a way that only Tony can manage.





	i'm a trainwreck, i'm a car crash (but you're stuck with me)

**Author's Note:**

> S.I.C.P. is the computer science textbook that MIT uses in the first year. Why do I know that? Don't ask. Is Lisp really the language God wrote the universe in? No, that's Minecraft redstone circuits you're thinking about. 
> 
> And yes that mini arcade machine actually exist, it belongs to the World's Smallest Tiny Arcade line and there are more and I want them.
> 
> I would like to thank Peculiva for her Beta work. I love the word "and" too much and forget to put commas in the apoppriate place. She makes it all better. 
> 
> This is for the O1 square of the bingo, which is the Substance Abuse trope. 
> 
> The title is from the Tinashe's song, Stuck With Me.

Steve loves night shift. He doesn’t love what comes with the night shift. He doesn’t love the fucked up sleep schedule it brings. He definitely doesn’t love the blinding sun shining into his eyes when he steps out of the library, eyes used to the artificial dimness of the reception and body begging for sleep. But he loves what the night shift represents. 

The library is open 24/7. And when Steve was little and his mom had to do some  _ research _ as Steve fell asleep on an old couch surrounded by books, it was his favourite place. He spent the mornings in the hospital’s breakroom, where his mom worked, looking at the pictures of the books they checked out that morning. Sometimes some of the nurses taking breaks read for him. Sometimes his mom poked her head through the door to check, as Steve made up his own stories to the pictures. Wondering when they would be going back to the library, so that he could look at all the books.

The thing is, Steve didn’t know back then that they were homeless for that week. He didn’t know the  _ research _ was his mom applying to any and every job she could to gather up enough money to get a roof over their heads. He had always loved the library. But as he grew up and the understanding dawned upon him that if it wasn’t for the library with its colorful children’s corner, movies, books to keep him entertained while the lady behind the counter helped his mom with her frankly too many applications, they would actually be out there on the streets, and things would most possibly not go any better from there.

So yes, Steve loves the night shift. He loves what it stands for. He loves seeing the lost look in the eyes of people, just in that same situation his mother was in back then, coming through the door change into determination as Steve discreetly gives them one of the computers closest to the corkboard with the job ads.

And if it’s a lonely job where you stay up all night as the rest of the world sleeps, unaware of the struggles of the people, and sleep the days away, always a little out of touch, a little disconnected from everything else… It’s worth it. 

\---

Tony comes into Steve’s life with a crash and a bang that disrupts that quiet struggle of the night in a way that only Tony can manage. Commotion at the door is not an everyday occurrence for a library, so that’s what pulls Steve from his reverie. The way too loud music comes closer, and then cuts off, a laugh and some giggles are heard. Then the music starts again and gradually disappears. There is silence for a moment. Then a boy stumbles through the door, clearly drunk in a way no one his age should ever be, with dark bags under his eyes creeping down his translucent cheeks.

“S.I.C.P.” he says, slumps over the counter, almost looking through Steve. His hands immediately go to play with the stack of pamphlets.

Because he is a good librarian, Steve enters it to the search engine even though he knows an abbreviation most probably won’t bring any results. “Hmm, no luck,” he says as he discreetly takes out a bottle of water from under the counter and puts it beside the boy’s wandering hands. The hands continue their travel on the counter, unaware. Long fingered, bony, with cuts and burns. Steve realizes he’s tidying the counter. The pamphlets are now in a neat pile, organized. He moves on to the returned book pile that Steve was supposed to enter into the system. “Can you give me a little more?” Steve asks, “Do you remember the writer maybe?”

“Abelson, Sussman.”

What comes are textbooks that they have duplicates of, apparently. Steve finds the one that fits the abbreviated title, Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs. One is checked out but the other three are available so he asks, “Will you be checking out or studying here?”

“Here.”

“Cool,” Steve looks at the spine number and grabs the water bottle, “Come with me.”

The boy follows Steve like a ghost. And it would not be the first time Steve dealt with substance abuse but also he knows a direct approach is bound to fail. It’s bound to get a defensive response, make the boy close up. Steve learned it the hard way, that he can’t save everyone. But he hopes the boy will take the water, and come back so that Steve can give him another. He knows, sometimes small kindnesses go a long way.

“Here we are,” Steve pulls the spine and what comes out is a red and blue book with a weird medieval artwork on the cover. For a moment he forgets he needs to hand it over and squints at it. They giggle at the same time. Steve goes a little hot under the collar of his shirt, embarrassed.

“Sorry, sorry,” the boy reaches for the book, then pulls his hands away. One goes to the back of his neck but he doesn’t seem embarrassed. More like he’s expecting some kind of reprimand for showing he has a sense of humor.

“No it’s okay, it’s,” Steve looks at the cover once more before placing the book on a nearby table with the water bottle on the side. On the cover of the book there are two figures. A man in robes and a weird hat holds a magic globe type of thing with the words  _ eval _ and  _ apply _ on it. A woman points at an inkwell sitting on a table with an animal’s feet as a foot. A sign Steve recognizes but doesn’t know the name of hangs in the air between them. Steve cannot make heads or tails of it to save his life, “What does it have to do with  _ programming _ though?”

The boy rubs a hand over his eyes and sits at the table, right where Steve laid out the book, “I will tell you when I figure it out.” 

And Steve can recognise when he is dismissed, “Okay, good luck with that.” Just when he is about to disappear behind the shelves, the boy calls him back.

“Hey!” Steve flinches a little at the exclamation, the boy grimaces as well and then stage whispers, “Hey, uh, you have forgotten the-” he points at the bottle.

Steve sighs, “That’s,” for a second he questions his every single life choice that brought him to this exact library, every single life choice that made him into this optimistic guy who offers water to strangers at 3AM and thinks it can change shit; still, he gestures, “That’s for you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve slumps a little, “So, yeah.” Steve turns around again.

“It’s about the loops!”

“Huh?”

“Lisp. I mean, the loops. The programming. Uh- The-” The boy flips back to the cover of the book, tapping erratically on the cover art. “The Eval/Apply thing is a loop, I mean. Read. Evaluate. Print. So like, everything is an equation, right? In computers, that is. And you give things to the computer. To the program. Information. And it reads the information, and then evaluates it in the boundaries of whatever equation you want it to and then prints the result. And that’s how brains work too so like, it’s- And like; this,” he points at the hovering sign, “This is lambda. It signifies Lambda Calculus. In it you can have these equations which have bound and free variables and like, that’s what makes it so- Like, imagine you’re going to learn something. But like, don’t imagine some hardcore information. Imagine a concept. When it gets into your brain, your brain also has bound variables, like morality or like fight and flight reflexes, and whatever information is going through your brain, which are like the free variables in Lambda Calculus, will be evaluated through these bound variables and you will print out, I mean you will come up with a conclusion. Computers print. But yeah. Uh. Read, evaluate, print. The claw foot table is probably something like a butt tuba.”

Steve is captivated in the worst way. It’s probably the late night crazies getting to him but he feels like he is done for. He has dealt with fights breaking out in the library, shouting matches, kids wreaking havoc, drunkards, substance abusers, straight up weirdos and this, a pair of wide manic brown eyes will be his end. He should say  _ cool _ , and leave. He should leave this kid to his own devices, make sure he hasn’t passed out in an hour or so because that’s all that he can do. And he definitely should not sit right beside him, leaving the front counter unguarded and ask him what the hell is a butt tuba is. But God damn, it is 3AM and it seems like he has crossed into that liminal space in his mind because that’s exactly what he does.

The chair scrapes across the stone floor, the sound echoes in the library, “I’m Steve, and what the hell is a butt tuba?”

“Butt tuba is some kind of decoration from like, medieval scripts? Like the knight fighting huge snails thing? No one knows where it originated. My vote is medieval trolling. Tony, by the way.”

Steve laughs. Blushes. Sees Tony looking at him like that. Blushes some more. “And the book is about...”

Tony sighs, “The book is about Lisp. It’s one of the most comprehensive computer languages ever, if not the most,” he flips the book open, “And it’s used to make artificial intelligence. I mean, not that you cannot use it to make other things. After all, I said  _ comprehensive _ . And it is. But it’s a bit too exaggerated, like you can use any other perfectly good and simple coding language too but  _ oooh look at me I know Lisp- _ ” He cuts off, “Sorry.”

“No, don’t,” Steve is, he is interested, but this is so out of his league. He is out of his depth. And he says so.

Tony is… He is not the best teacher. His mind jumps are the Olympic triple jump style. And he is prone to ramble in a way that makes Steve think he is not used to talking his ideas out loud. Which makes his heart clench and his brain go all panicky because it isn’t supposed to happen like this. This fast. 

But it does. And Tony tells him, as the ghostly glaze over his eyes disappears slowly, that they used the book in his first year at university. That it doesn’t only teach the programming language but also touches on how human learning works and how it relates to how  _ humans  _ make the  _ machines  _ work. That unfortunately he jumped classes too quickly to finish the book in school but he loves to go back to it, to something familiar. 

The famous SICP lays between them, forgotten. But Steve makes Tony finish the water.

\---

As Steve hoped, Tony comes back. Again, on a night shift, looking like a ghost. And then he just keeps coming back. And he, it, _ they _ become some kind of a thing. Tony brings little things he tinkers with to the library, showing Steve things he didn’t know existed. Steve makes him drink water. Tony bounces ideas off of him. On Wednesdays, Steve hides some kind of berry muffin (or a chocolate something) for Tony from the community bake-off. Tony is surprised Steve was the one who came up with the idea. People bring whatever they can and sit and chat and who knew, but word of mouth is still the best way of getting the news around. So and so was looking for waitresses, and they are looking for a receptionist over at this and that. 

It was exactly what Steve had set out to accomplish, he tells Tony and if he is proud of what he has done, well, it is for a good cause. And oh, did Tony know you can now check out baking molds and whatnot from the library? 

“This library,” Tony points at the general direction of the ceiling, way too loud for said library, “loans baking pans.”

Steve doesn’t even try to shush him, he knows it’s a lost cause and the library is deserted, “Pans, cake sheets, silicone moulds, silicone mats…Those ones are the original Silpat too,” Steve points at the orange bordered rolls, “when we were first buying them I was so surprised at how expensive they were, you’d think a sheet of plastic would be cheaper. But then again, that’s the point,” he shuffles on the chair a little, “many people cannot buy things like this,” he gestures vaguely.

Tony plops his head down on the table, looking at him through his lashes, “You’re so thoughtful Steve,” and he is still so, so  _ drunk _ .

And that’s the thing that makes Steve’s heart clench and hands go cold instead of blushing like he would do if anyone flirted with him. This is Tony  _ drunk _ . And Tony sober, doesn’t do things like this.

Once the haze in his eyes clears up, he will no longer lean in or look at Steve like that. Tony sober is a little too enthusiastic about robots and computers, a little embarrassed about his enthusiasm, a little awkward and gangly and Steve thinks, a little shy. And to think that Steve loves that Tony more is just… It’s not new to Steve, but he’d rather not think about that.

“Well, for many people, the library is the only place they can find many things,” he sighs, “I wish people would stop thinking about libraries as a place you can only find old books in.”

And that’s how he starts telling Tony about his week in the library, way back when he was a kid. By the time he’s done, Tony is much more sober and a little mortified.

“You spent an entire week in the library!”

“I think I just told the story of that, yes.”

“In the library.”

“Steve,” Tony sits up in the way that he does whenever he has a ridiculous idea and Steve winces for what he knows is coming, “I’m going to get showers installed in here.”

“Tony, no.”

“Like,” he totally vibrates on his chair, “have you seen that guy who goes around cutting homeless people’s hair for free? And oh,” he jumps, “you know they have those buses that have washing machines and dry cleaning on that if you have a job interview they clean your clothes for you. Free of charge.”

Steve huffs a laugh, “how do you even know about that?”

“Internet, Steve,” Tony rolls his eyes, “let me introduce you to it sometime.”

“Maybe yeah,” Steve cannot help but smile at him as Tony blushes, but damn, he worked so hard to rally against the budget cuts, to gather resources, to add to the community as much as he can. And in a world where everything seems to work against him, it’s nice that Tony gets excited about that. Steve can’t help but feel warm, feel proud. “Do you think we, maybe we could get in touch with those laundry bus people. That would be nice.”

“Steve, I’m telling you, I will buy you washing machines.”

“I don’t own the library, I cannot just put washing machines here.”

Tony gets a manic gleam in his eye, “I will buy you the library.”

“Tony, what the hell?”

And that’s when he learns Tony’s last name.

\---

Life has thrown way so many things so quickly at Steve that sometimes he forgets he isn’t actually that old. That there are people his age not working, not worrying; some that are still in school, some that still live with their parents or get pocket money sent to them, some that just  _ live _ , still trying to figure out life.

But life left him to fend for himself at a young age and before that, with his mom, it was still surviving rather than a comfortable living so Steve... Forgets, simply put. That he isn’t, say, forty but just twenty-four.

Tony is seventeen and he has had a whole different kind of trouble thrown at him by life. But it doesn’t mean Steve cannot relate, kind of.

Steve dealt with his problems by doing the only thing he could do at the time, which was to sigh, bear the brunt of it and act like he knew what he was doing while he was applying for schools, for jobs, for voluntary things that may or may not land a job.

Tony is doing the exact opposite. He acts like he has no idea what is going on around him. Like he doesn’t understand people, like he doesn’t understand work and why it’s important and why it’s bad that he’s just floating on the wind, with people who don’t give two shits about him but are glad to spend his father’s money on wine and vodka and whatever else they can get their connection’s hands on. 

They may look like exact opposites but in essence, they are both the same. Fake it until you make it. Wherever that  _ make it _ is.

Steve thinks if they were presented with this situation, people would say that Steve has made it. He has a steady job and a paycheck. He has an apartment. Lives a sensible life. And they would think that Tony is lost, wasting himself partying and drowning in alcohol. That he would never make it.

But when the haze of alcohol clears and Tony starts speaking in earnest, Steve knows, where he’s reaching for is unseen to the average eye. That he will  _ make it _ in unimaginable ways that sometimes resemble magic. And he feels so proud, just witnessing it.

\---

Steve wants to say he wasn’t expecting something like this to happen but he would be wrong. He never wanted to berate Tony for his life choices, he never wanted to criticize, he-

He didn’t want Tony to go away. He didn’t want him to think this, Steve’s side, wasn’t a safe place that he could come and just be but  _ this _ -

But Steve kind of knew this would happen at some point. He would have been lying if he said this wasn’t something he braced himself for, every time Tony walked through the doors.

Tony isn’t so bad at the beginning, when he first comes in. He is drunk, drunker than Steve remembered seeing him lately. But it’s nothing new, Steve sighs, this bounce back was bound to happen at some point. Steve doesn’t let himself feel disappointed, as he pulls up a water bottle from under the counter. Recovery is never a straight line, he tells himself.

“Hi Tony,” Steve gives him the bottle as he comes over.

“Hi Steve,” Tony grabs the bottle and drops it right away.

And that’s the first thing that tips Steve that something is not right. 

Tony doesn’t bend to take the bottle, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He turns to Steve, “Look what I made for you,” he hands him a tiny arcade machine.

“Oh!” Steve doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he should point out the water bottle, or the fact that Tony doesn’t seem fine at all.

Now that he is close, Steve can see just how bloodshot his eyes are. They don’t look all right at all.

“It jus’ had Pac-Man in it,” Tony sways, then leans against Steve, his bony shoulder pokes into his side, “but I put all the others in it too.”

“What others Tony?” Steve bends to get the water bottle while still supporting him. When he gets up, Tony leans in more and Steve is going in between  _ oh God, oh God, oh God _ and  _ oh no, oh no, oh no. _

“Others.”

Steve starts to panic a little, “That’s great Tony.” Tony sways in his arms, “Tony?” 

“Hmmm…” 

Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders and finds that he cannot feel the warmth that would come from a person normally. Something cold trickles down his back, “Tony, can you-”, when he goes to pull away, to look at his face, Tony slinks to the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut. 

Steve sinks with him. When he takes his wrist in his hand, Tony’s pulse is slow, uneven. Steve thinks, there is no way this is just alcohol’s doing. He knows he should get up, call an ambulance or something. Technically, he knows this is an emergency, he knows the security guard will come in a heartbeat and he should notify him, he should, he knows. 

But he cannot bring himself to leave Tony’s side. And thank God for summer nights, thank God the library is empty and there is no one but Steve and Tony and he can pull a bean bag and prop up Tony right there. 

“Don’t take me to a hospital, please.”

It’s almost a whisper, but Steve hears it well enough. 

“It’s so good when you take care of me.”

“Tony please.”

“I made you a thing.”

“I know, I saw it,” Steve tries to soothe him.

“You don’t talk to me like this when I’m not drunk.”

Steve freezes.

Tony slips in and out of consciousness while Steve sits beside him and panics. Later on, he will mentally kick himself about how many first aid and emergency protocols he broke and how dangerous it was what he did. But for now, he sits and gives little sips of water to Tony, whenever he can.

“Steve.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Tony has his eyes closed, but he sounds lucid enough. Steve looks at the clock, it reads 4:33. “It’s alright Tony.”

“No it’s not, I know,” his voice trembles. 

Steve hushes him. He doesn’t dare to open his mouth for actual words, because at this point, he doesn’t even trust himself.

Tony is quiet for a while, Steve knows he’s falling asleep for good now, “Did you see your game?” 

Steve doesn’t know exactly how many times Tony brought it up. He twirls the little arcade machine around in his hands, “Yes, Tony. I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Now, looking at Tony’s sleeping form on the bean bags he bundled together, under his jacket, Steve thinks he has never wanted to punch someone so much. He never wanted to punch someone like he wants to punch Howard Stark right now. 

He knows Tony would never admit it, but Steve knows that this, this entire drinking and partying and messing up is the only way Tony ever gets attention from his father. He never knew though, that Tony would associate him,  _ Steve _ with that too.

When he wakes up he will be mad with Tony but he won’t show it. Not how he wants to do. He’ll be mad with himself too. But for now he sits beside him on the floor and lets himself card a hand through Tony’s clammy hair. 

\---

“You’re an idiot.  _ Seven years?”  _

Steve huffs, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you wanna go to  _ jail _ ?!”

“Sam.”

“So technically, if you wait a year…”

“ _ Buck! _ ”

Sam turns to Bucky with what could only be called an expression version of  _ e tu Brutus _ . And Steve once again thinks,  _ do I really need friends?  _

He knows they are right; on the other hand, there is nothing going on between him and Tony. Yes, Tony is brilliant. He comes over to the library very frequently but then again, he does actual work in the library too. It’s not like he comes to talk to Steve. And Tony is  _ brilliant _ , Steve is a librarian and in time Tony will be surrounded by people equally brilliant and-

“Okay,” Sam cuts his train of thought, “So the kid likes you. No-” he cuts when Steve is about to  _ correct  _ him, “We have seen it. You,” he points at Steve, “are clearly blind but we,” points between himself and a very pleased looking Bucky, “have seen not only how he looks at you with those Bambi eyes, but also how  _ you  _ look at him.” 

“Guys, no.”

“So the only thing left is, your game plan,” Bucky finishes for Sam.

Steve slumps, “There is no game plan, hell, there is no game,” he gets very little time to spend with his only two friends as it is, with his job schedule and normal human circadian rhythm and all, and they were not supposed to come as his shift ended, they were not supposed to see him not on his chair behind the counter but to the side, on the kiddie bean bags sitting with Tony. And they were definitely not supposed to come to wild conclusions like this and spend their already very limited Nice Friends Time discussing something that is definitely not happening.

“Look, we’re your friends, we’re not gonna abandon you because you’re thinking about making some questionable choices here.”

“Yeah, we’re supposed to help you actually make them,” says Bucky, when Sam shoots him a look, he adds, “but like, when they become less questionable, like, when they are no longer illegal at least.”

At this point Steve is surprised the ground hasn’t opened up to take him, take all of them, straight to the deepest layer of hell, “No. Nope. Tony is leaving in a month for college, and even if,” he cuts Bucky before he can get in, “even if he has a crush on me now, he is leaving and” Steve shrugs, “that’s that.”

Sam shrugs back at him, “So, he’s starting college, he will still-”

“Uh, he’s finishing actually.”

Sam blinks at him. Bucky grins maniacally.

Steve knows he’s in trouble.

\---

Tony does indeed buy him washing machines. And dryers. They are a donation from one of the Stark Foundations. Because of course, there are  _ more than one _ .

“I called my mother for this so you better thank me a ton,” Tony tells him on the phone. Steve can hear it in his voice that he’s trying to be flippant about it but he’s a little nervous, trying to gauge Steve’s reaction.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve complies. It’s weird, talking to him while the sun is still up, while they are not in the library. Steve is lying on his own couch, staring at his own light cream walls and feels cold. Alone.

Tony is somewhere else, packing his bags to leave for campus. Steve, if he strains his ears, can hear shuffling through the phone.

“I mean it’s fine, it wasn’t a big deal. I guess. I mean, my mother likes this  _ giving back to the community _ shit,” then he stops, “sorry Steve. I- I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, mostly it’s a lot less direct, like they just drink champagne and throw money at stuff so it’s- Uh, sorry.”

“It’s alright, Tony,” Steve floats in and out of consciousness. If 3AM is the vulnerable time for the people who sleep at nights, this must be it for us, he thinks, things just come tumbling out.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“No! No, it’s-” Tony draws in a shaky breath, “I know what it means to you Steve. I’m sorry. I just, they don’t understand!”

“Tony-”

“No, don’t! Steve! It’s- Ugh! They don’t even try to understand, you know. My mother thinks when she throws money at stuff suddenly all of these things get better. Look at us, we bought some washing machines, pat us on the back, no more dirty laundry in the entire New York! And, and-” Steve can almost hear him slump, “Yeah, that’s- Yeah.”

Steve can understand that it’s not just about what Tony is saying, there is so much going unsaid here but he’s slipping, sleep wants to consume him, “I know Tony, I know.”

“I know you said things like this don’t get solved overnight.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“And we have to start somewhere.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“I have to leave soon.”

“Alright,” Steve doesn’t say  _ I will miss you _ , he doesn’t say  _ I already feel so lonely _ . He doesn’t say  _ I don’t know if I can go back to spending the nights all alone _ . The thought of saying something like that…  _ Wrong, so wrong.  _ Instead he says, “take care.”

Tony is silent for a moment, “I will call you when I land.” Somehow it sounds like a question.

“Of course,” Steve says, his eyes catching the palm sized Pac-Man arcade machine on his shelf, “call whenever you want.”

\---

It’s harder than Steve thinks it would be. Harder than it should be. 

Realistically, he knows the time Tony spent in his life is nothing compared to how long he’s been all by himself. It should be, at least.

_ Don’t say spent _ , says a little voice in his head,  _ say has been, he won’t be gone forever. _

But it’s hard and that’s how it is. 

He tries to keep himself busy. The school semester has started, so it means the night shifts are not as barren as they used to be in the summer. There is always someone shuffling papers, someone typing away, tapping a foot, clicking a pen… They all remind him of Tony.

Steve is trying to give him space. 

Well, when he puts it that way, even he winces. But he wants Tony to… Consider things. Without his influence. He thinks.

Steve doesn’t really want to think about exactly what he wants Tony to consider because thoughts like that make him want to dig a hole and bury himself so that he cannot ever think again.

And sometimes  _ half hard _ , when they catch him unaware. And Steve is in public right now, so he will not think, thank you very much.

At first, Tony calls him almost every night he knows Steve has a shift. He talks about his schoolwork, his dorm room, how he could actually finish school in half a semester if  _ they just let him _ but he already skipped so many classes so they will not let him cram anymore. Then the calls get sparse. Sometimes there is just silence between them, but it doesn’t feel like the comfortable kind. Steve wants to fill it but he holds himself back. 

He doesn’t even know why anymore.

Tony calls drunk one night. Steve is at work, sorting through new and old versions of textbooks. One of them says the seventh edition, the other one says deluxe. Steve has no idea which one came first, he has no idea why there is a deluxe version of a biology textbook. He doesn’t know what the hell deluxe means.

He snaps at Tony. Then feels like shit. He calls back but Tony doesn’t pick up. He tries to tell himself, he survived before me too. Then he feels nauseous.

Clarity comes to him that morning between sleep and wakefulness.  _ What do you want _ , asks the little voice in his head,  _ what are you trying to accomplish exactly?  _

And really, what is he trying to do? Tony was good, when he left. He was much better than how he looked when he first stumbled into Steve’s life. And really what does Steve think will happen, what will he accomplish by pushing him away? Tony is already miles away. And he wants to keep this. He called. He called, oh God he called and Steve never called. 

He just dials like that, sitting on the bed. It rings and rings and rings Steve thinks  _ oh no, I fucked up so bad _ but then Tony picks up.

“Hey,” and clearly, Steve woke him up too.

“I’m sorry.”

“Steve?”

“Tony, I’m sorry for not calling.”

Tony sighs on the line, there is some shuffling, “It’s alright.”

“No it’s not, I know, I’m sorry.” And suddenly Steve is reminded of the conversation they had months ago, on the library floor with Tony drugged out of his mind. Steve remembers thinking  _ I wish you would talk to me.  _ “I didn’t want to be overbearing. I thought, I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t want you to-” He takes a deep breath, “It’s lonely without you here.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Steve slumps, “I- I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Steve-”

“No, Tony. It’s just that- Look, you’re brilliant, you’re  _ great _ ! You should have someone just as brilliant next to you. Half the time I don’t even know what you’re talking about. And I thought maybe you'd go to school and you’d realize that or-”

Tony giggles. It’s a little wet sound that Steve has never heard from him before. It’s not one of the drunk, flirty giggles. It’s an honest to God, joyful, little giggle. “You think I’m great.”

Steve smiles to himself, “I think you’re great.”

\---

It’s a little more... Normal after that. Better. Like it used to be. Tony still drinks an inappropriate amount at times and makes some bad attempts at flirting. Steve sighs and tries not to overindulge him. Instead he calls back when Tony is sober and attempts at his own bad flirting.

They are both so bad at it, at sober flirting. But at least Steve had more time to accept that he is hopeless and he doesn’t let Tony  _ feel _ bad about it.

They make plans. Plans about Steve’s work, plans about Tony’s robots, plans about when he is done with school…

Tony calls him one morning, a couple hours until the end of his shift, catches him while he’s wandering in the library replacing books. “Happy birthday to me, I’m 18 now,” he says without preamble.

“Oh,” says Steve, all the blood going somewhere south. 

\---

Tony just jumps on him the moment he opens the door.

Everything is still thin and gangly about him. It almost reminds Steve of himself, back when he was 90 pounds soaking wet, before he filled up.  _ I will be here,  _ Steve thinks to himself,  _ I will be around to watch you become everything I know you can _ . Tony whimpers against Steve’s mouth as Steve sucks at his lips.  _ The door, _ Steve thinks, _ the door is still open, we should close it. _

“I made muffins.”

“Steve!” Tony wiggles. Steve pushes his face into Tony’s neck, plants a kiss there. Then one more, just because he can.

Steve can feel Tony’s cock jump through the tight jeans he’s wearing. His thin legs are wrapped around Steve’s waist, locked behind him almost painfully. He gets side tracked. Kisses Tony a little more. Steve thinks if he laid on top of Tony, he could cover all of him. You could do that, whispers the little voice, _ take him, lay him on the bed, cover him.  _ He wants to hide Tony from the world, protect him, so that nothing can ever get to him again.  _ Make him yours _ . 

Steve pulls away to look Tony in the face. A slight shiver runs through him. As if they are connected to the same electrical circuit, Tony shivers too, his eyes roll back a little. Then he catches Steves eyes and giggles. It’s a sound that never fails to abate that little voice. It says  _ no _ ,  _ there is no need to rush _ . _ I’m already yours _ . 

“We have time.”

“Ugh,” Tony rolls his eyes at him, but when he looks at Steve in earnest, he can see that it comforts him too, knowing that.  _ They have time.  _ “Okay, fine! Dinner time.”

Steve plants Tony down on the floor, kisses the top of his head, because he can.  _ This is new _ , Steve thinks, thumbing at his chin. The tiny soul patch under Tony’s lips is soft. Steve can see him blushing a little. He bends down and gives him one more little kiss.  _ Because he can. _

They get inside. Steve dishes out the blueberry muffins. Tony trails around the kitchen, then the living room, slightly righting things left and right. Piling up some books by their size. He purses his lips, fighting a smile, when he sees the tiny arcade machine. He opens the shockproof case to reveal DUM-E. Steve pours them coffee. They spend a good deal of their time sitting on the couch, trying to teach him how to grab soft things gently and eating the muffins he had crumbled.

And laughing. And kissing.

“Baby,” Steve sighs against his lips. Tony’s hands wander under his shirt. Steve pulls it over his head and throws it somewhere behind.

“Oh my God, I’m going to come,” Tony says, eyes trailing all over him, then immediately slaps a hand on his mouth, going tomato red.

“Don’t,” Steve pulls his hand away, “I-” He kisses Tony, “I like it.”

Tony’s hands immediately find his shoulders, trail down his chest, his stomach and further down. He shivers. Tony looks him in the eye, pupils dilated, twinkling.  _ Bambi eyes, _ he thinks,  _ going to be the death of me.  _ When he grabs the side of his face, Steve’s hand almost covers all of Tony’s face.  _ So small _ , he thinks. His thumb lands on his pink lips. Tony sucks it into his mouth.

Steve groans. 

Tony’s hand tries to dive into his pants, fumbling. Steve brings his other hand down to help. When Tony pulls his cock out he is already leaking. It drips onto Tony’s shirt. 

Steve pulls at it with his free hand, “Why are you still wearing this?”

Tony giggles. Then moans as Steve pushes his t-shirt up, over his nipples and latches onto the right one. His cock grazes Tony’s stomach. Tony grabs at it, strokes it from root to tip. 

“Oh my God,” he says as Steve’s hand dives into his pants, mouth travelling to the other nipple “Oh God.”

Steve knows he’s not going to last. He knows Tony won’t either. 

He is proven right when Tony comes, after a couple strokes, body shaking violently. His hand clenches on Steve, squeezing the head of his cock and he comes just like that.

Steve buries his head in the crook of Tony’s neck, placing kisses, stroking his arms and his sides as tiny shivers still rock him. Tony sighs, turning his head to the side.

When Steve comes up, finally sits back, Tony is running a finger through the mess on his stomach. Mixing their come together.

He giggles, “I’m a mess.”

Steve groans. 

And maybe he is, in more than one sense of the word, Steve thinks as they stumble into the bathroom to get cleaned. They are both a little bit of a mess. Tony’s is just a bit more visible to the eye. Steve has never gotten over the insecurities of his childhood and maybe that’s less obvious but-

Tony nudges him with a finger, “I want more muffins.”

Steve kisses him, “Alright.”

We’ll be all right. We have time, he thinks.


End file.
